Rock point collection, p.105
Rock Point Collection, page 105
“It’s Dylan,” she whispers and suddenly I’m afraid to answer. What if…
“Answer the phone, Marya. He wouldn’t call you with bad news.”
She’s right. I quickly answer the call.
“Dylan…”
“I have him, Sweetheart. Liam’s going to be fine.”
“He’s found him,” I announce, tears coursing down my face and the other women don’t fare much better. Then I clue into something Dylan said. “He’s hurt?”
“He has a cut on his head, and since he was out of it for a bit, we’re on our way to the hospital so he can get checked out.”
“I can be there in fifteen minutes.” I’m jump started into mom-action when he stops me.
“Not Mercy. The boys are being taken to Beaumont in Farmington. Damian is making arrangements to get you here as soon as possible.”
The information takes a moment to process. “Thomas?”
“They were together. Not sure what that kid went through these past weeks, but he’s a big part of why I’m looking at your son’s blue eyes right now.”
I choke down a sob. “Can I talk to him?”
There’s some rustling and then I hear him.
“Mom?” His voice is soft and a bit drowsy, but it’s the most beautiful sound ever.
“Baby. I love you so much. I’m on my way, okay?”
“‘Kay.”
More rustling and then Dylan is back.
“Pack an overnight bag for yourself and bring him some clothes, Sweetheart. Just in case. Damian should be there soon. We’re rolling up on the hospital so I better go.”
“Look after him, please.”
“Won’t leave his side. I promise.”
“I love you.”
“Love you too, Marya. Now go pack. I’ll see you soon.”
I’ve just updated Mom and Kerry when the doorbell rings.
“Kerry, would you get that?” Mom says, taking charge. “I’ll run up and pack a few things.”
“Marya…” Damian’s deep voice sounds from the doorway as he crosses the distance in a few long strides and folds me in a tight hug. “He’s going to be fine.”
His arms feel solid and I’m not afraid to lean into him heavily while I try to regain my equilibrium. “Where did they find him?” I finally ask when he releases me.
“I’ve got the vehicle out front, let’s get on the road and I’ll fill you in.”
“I’m coming. Dante will be fine with your sister,” Kerry announces, challenging Damian with a look.
“So am I,” Mom seconds, coming down the stairs with a bag.
It’s not until after we pack into his SUV, and I quickly call my boys at Beth’s house to tell them their brother is found, that Damian tells us what he knows.
“It was actually Agent Linden who found the boys. She contacted Dylan, who was only minutes away, and along with Luna they were able to overpower the suspect.”
“How did she know?”
“Good instincts. They were in a small abandoned warehouse on property that belongs to a company called Contechs, a manufacturer of electronic components. The company belongs to Connor Keswick, who is Jeremy Berger’s father-in-law.”
“Jeremy?”
“No. Although your ex-husband has plenty to answer for, he was not involved with the abduction of the boys or Seth’s murder.”
“So it was Keswick,” Kerry contributes from the back seat she shares with Mom.
Damian glances up at her reflection in the rearview mirror. “Not exactly. We’re still working on tying all the pieces together, although it should be easier now that we know all the players.”
“Who took the boys then?” I ask, meeting his quick glance my way.
“Peter Grunsberg.”
There’s something familiar about the name. I’ve heard it before, but I can’t quite place it.
“Who is that?” Mom voices my question but before Damian has a chance to answer it comes to me.
“Coach?”
THIRTY-ONE
Marya
I’m still reeling with the knowledge Liam’s soccer coach is a predator when Damian pulls up in front of the hospital to let us out.
The first person I see, when the nurse shows Mom and Kerry the waiting room and I follow her on my crutches into the ER, is Toni Linden. She appears deep in conversation with a couple standing outside one of the rooms in the long hallway.
The already dissipating anger I’ve felt toward the agent melts away completely as I watch her wrap the clearly distraught woman in a hug. These must be Thomas’ parents. Trying not to intrude, I follow the nurse and slip as best I can past them, but when I throw a glance over my shoulder I catch her peek at me.
I recognize the apology in her eyes as if she’d spoken the words and simply I nod my acceptance. It’s all I have time to give her; my son is waiting for me.
The nurse holds open the door to an image that burns itself into my soul. Dylan leaning forward on a stool, pulled close to the head of the hospital bed that holds my son. His large hand is covering Liam’s chest, and his head is resting on the pillow next to my boy’s bandaged one.
Liam appears to be asleep, but Dylan’s head lifts up the moment he hears the door click shut behind me.
“Sweetheart,” he murmurs, before carefully removing his hand from Liam’s chest and getting to his feet.
With one hand he takes my crutches, while the other arm pulls me tight against him. My nose is pressed against the hollow of his throat and my hands clutch his shirt at the small of his back. My nose stings and I have a lump in my throat, but I refuse to give in to tears. I’ve shed enough of them the past hours.
“Was he…” I let the word trail, afraid to finish my question, but Dylan hears it anyway.
“No.”
I slump against him. “Oh God, thank you.”
“Mom?”
Dylan takes a step back and we both turn to the bed. “Hey, baby.” I hobble to Liam’s side and try to smile, even as my eyes take in the large bandage wrapped around his head and the crusted blood not quite wiped from his neck and behind his ear. It’s a good thing life with three boys includes plenty of encounters with blood; otherwise I might’ve lost it again.
I feel Dylan’s hand settle on my lower back and feel the instant comfort it provides.
“The doc will be here soon. Liam just got back from a scan maybe fifteen minutes before you got here. Why don’t you have a seat?”
“I got stitches,” Liam says, as I’m gently pushed down on the stool.
“Twelve of them,” Dylan says behind me and Liam grins up at him.
“Did I break the record, Mom?”
I roll my eyes. Everything with my boys is a competition. Who’s taller, who’s stronger, who has the scariest injuries and the biggest scars—and we haven’t quite hit puberty yet.
Lord have mercy.
“Probably, Bub,” I answer with a sigh. Dylan starts chuckling behind me.
The door opens and a doctor walks in and stops at the opposite side of the bed. “Hey, Liam. Mrs. Berger?”
“It’s Ms.,” I clarify.
“I’ll just wait outside,” Dylan says, but I grab him by the hand and hold on.
“Stay.”
“Your son has a nice size cut on his head we already cleaned and closed, but aside from that, a concussion, and a doozy of a headache, there’s no additional injury. We’ll keep an eye on him overnight and see how things are tomorrow.”
“Can he have visitors?”
“As soon as we have him moved up to a room. A nurse will be in shortly, I believe there’s some insurance stuff to be filled out, and as soon as that’s done he can be on his way.”
True to his word, the same nurse who showed me here comes in with a clipboard and I quickly fill out the questionnaire.
“I’m moving him to the third floor, room 312. Give us twenty minutes to transfer care and get him settled in?”
“You head to the waiting room,” Dylan suggests. “I’ll be right behind you. I’m just going to walk him to the elevator.”
I kiss Liam, who wraps an arm around my neck—something he hasn’t done in a long time and has me swallow a lump—and watch as Dylan helps the nurse navigate his hospital bed through the door.
The waiting room is full of familiar faces: Mom, Kerry, Damian, Luna, and Toni with her arm firmly around the shoulders of Mrs. McKinley. They look up as one when I walk in.
“Twelve stitches and a concussion,” I immediately inform Mom who half-rises from her chair. “He’ll be fine. They’re just moving him up to a room and we can go see him.”
“Where’s Dylan?” Damian wants to know.
“Right here,” his deep voice sounds right behind me, as I feel the pressure of his hand on my lower back. “You should sit down,” he adds for my benefit, and I let him guide me to a vacant chair beside my mother. Then he turns to Thomas’ mom and crouches down in front of her, grabbing her hand as he speaks to her in a gentle tone. “I don’t know how much your son is willing to share about what happened, but I need you to know—if not for his actions—things may well have ended much differently. He’s a fighter, and you should be very proud of him.”
“Thank you.” The words are barely audible, but the grateful look she shoots him with eyes brimming with tears is clear.
Moments later her husband comes in to get her.
“Thank you,” Toni echoes, getting to her feet, but her eyes are on Dylan. “Her son didn’t want her in the room when the doctor came in to examine him. She can guess, though. What you said, I’m sure it helped.”
The implication of what she says fills me with some form of survivor’s guilt as I realize how lucky Liam was.
“I’ve got her,” Luna says, following Toni—who claims to need some air—out of the room.
Dylan
“Jesus,” Damian runs a hand through his hair, looking shaken.
It’s coming on to midnight, and we’re standing in the parking lot, Kerry already tucked inside the running SUV.
Luna left for Yeager’s office with Toni earlier, where apparently they’re waiting to interview Grunsberg until the boss gets there. He’s flying back from Austin. She left the Expedition for me.
Jasper had called around the time Marya went up with Lydia and Kerry to see her boy. The team in Montrose found the connection in the paperwork they took out of Keswick’s house there, something that had easily been overlooked initially, simply because so much time had passed.
They found a copy of a birth certificate listing one Katherine Grunsberg as the mother of Peter James Grunsberg, born eight years prior to Katherine’s marriage to Connor Keswick. From what they pulled together from the family papers, Sylvia was born three years after that. The last mention of Peter was a letter from a boarding school in Vermont Keswick donated a whack of money to, confirming the then fourteen-year-old’s arrival. Sylvia would’ve been just three years old and wouldn’t necessarily have remembered him.
We have to wait to get information from Grunsberg himself, since it’s doubtful Keswick will talk, but it’s clear their paths crossed again at some point. The only witnesses able to perhaps shed a little light are the two boys.
While I was getting some missing details from Liam—mostly about what happened in that windowless room—Damian had the difficult task of interviewing Thomas. Something that clearly affected him.
“Tough,” I mumble sympathetically.
Damian snorts in response. “Nowhere near what his poor parents are faced with.”
“For sure.”
“The kid never left that room. The first week he never saw who had taken him. All he remembers is playing a game of Fortnight with SoccerLord the night before he was taken. The guy asked him to meet in the back parking lot at the soccer fields. Said to wait by a navy blue van, because he had some special edition game the kid could borrow. He doesn’t remember much else until waking up in that room.” He shoves his hands in his pockets and turns to look at his wife, who appears to have dozed off, her head resting against the window. “He had a bucket in the room with him, and didn’t know if it was night or day. He remembers looking forward to the door opening that first week, because that meant a bottle of water and a couple of granola bars would be tossed in the room. He said he’d feel sleepy after and would doze off. Then one time he woke up while he was…” Damian swallows hard and I know it costs him. I look away and give him a minute, my own fists clenched in my pockets. “Anyway.” He clears his throat. “He remembers trying to fight, recognizing Grunsberg, who easily overpowered him, muttering something about not being able to wait his turn. That’s all that was ever said to him when the man returned. He never got his clothes back.”
I don’t trust myself to say anything, so I don’t. I just swallow hard.
“Liam?” he asks, and I shake my head.
“Was spared that.”
“Good.”
“Yeah.”
“I’m gonna drive my wife home, but first I’m gonna swing by Bella’s to pick up our son. I feel the need to have him close tonight.”
“I hear you, Boss.”
His hand claps on my shoulder. “You did good today. Go be with your family, Barnes, and don’t wait too long to make that official. Time is as precious as it is fleeting, so grab the fuck on.”
-
I turn to look at Marya, who is yawning in the passenger seat. Grabbing her hand, I give it a squeeze and earn an exhausted smile.
Liam was released forty-five minutes ago, after a very uncomfortable night in his room.
The nurse ended up wheeling in a recliner we told Lydia to take, Marya crawled in bed with her son—something the nurses frowned at but didn’t interfere with—and I sat on the floor by the door, my back against the wall. I dozed off occasionally, but every time I did, staff would come in to check on Liam. They might as well have put in a revolving door. It’s quieter at Marya’s place with all four boys running around.
A quick glance in the rearview mirror shows both Liam and Lydia asleep. Good, because I’m not sure we’ll get much of a chance at Marya’s.
Before we left the hospital, I made a call to my mother to see how the boys fared in the tree house last night, and to give her a heads-up we’d be on our way home soon. From what I gather, the kids are bouncing to see their brother. I have no doubt they’ll be waiting at Marya’s when we get there.
“I…uhh…do you…shit,” Marya uncharacteristically stammers.
“Spit it out, Sweetheart.”
She huffs and blows a stray strand of hair out of her face. “Are you just dropping us off?”
“Wasn’t planning to.”
“Oh.”
“Did you think I was gonna throw you out and be on my merry way?” I turn to her with an eyebrow raised.
“I wasn’t sure.” She throws a quick glance over her shoulder, and finding the back seat occupants still safely sleeping, she leans in a little closer. “Things haven’t exactly been moving along a traditional path thus far. It’s hard to know what to expect. It’s like we’ve lived a lifetime in the past couple of months, and at the same time I feel like maybe we’ve missed some steps.”
I turn our hands palm to palm and slip my fingers between hers. “What do you want?” I ask bluntly. She stays quiet, so I try again. “Today, next week, next month—what is it you want?” When she still hesitates, I continue, “Okay, I’ll tell you what I want. Today I don’t want to leave you or the boys, so unless you don’t want me to, I’ll stick around.”
“I want you to.”
I grin at her. “See? We’re getting somewhere. Now, aside from something popping up that requires my presence at the office, I’d like to hang around tomorrow as well.”
“Fine by me.” Her grin matches mine.
“Excellent. Then tomorrow night, seeing as it’s technically a school night, Max and I should head back to my place. Not because I want to,” I add quickly, “but because I think it’s better to give the kids a chance to get used to the fact we’re becoming an us. Next weekend we can be back here, if you’ll have us.”
Her fingers squeeze mine but before she can respond, Lydia answers from the back seat, making us both laugh.
“Ohhh, she’ll have you.”
THIRTY-TWO
Dylan
“Hey.”
“Hi, is this a good time? I can call back—”
“It’s always a good time for you, Sweetheart,” I tell Marya, get up from my chair, and walk into the hallway, away from my team’s prying eyes.
The truth is, we’ve been swamped, and although I’ve talked to her every day, I haven’t seen much of her.
The feedback from both Keswick’s and Grunsberg’s interviews had been sparse, since neither was particularly forthcoming, so we’ve been digging hard.
Monday we received the search warrant for Grunsberg’s house in Durango, as well as his office at the office furniture outlet he’s managed the last six months since moving here from Grand Junction. The guy has a wife and two young daughters for fuck’s sake.
The wife looked shell-shocked when we arrived on her doorstep Monday afternoon. It was clear she already knew her husband was in FBI custody, but she’d been clueless the navy blue van belonging to her was used in the abduction of children. The same van she used to take their own daughters to daycare in.
She’d been equally clueless about her husband’s connection with Connor Keswick, who she only knew as the father of her college friend, Sylvia, well before she even met Peter Grunsberg. It’s turned out to be a tangled web for fucking sure.
The only thing we found in the house was his PS4 in the basement rec room, but we hit the jackpot when we later searched his office at the store. In a locked drawer in his desk, we discovered a digital camera storing not only the soccer tryout pictures Berger had alluded to, but also pictures of Seth, Thomas, and a total of five more young boys. I’ll never be able to get those images out of my mind.
From what we were able to collect from Grunsberg’s home and office, along with the evidence found in the Montrose and Farmington searches, the picture was getting clearer.
“Answer the phone, Marya. He wouldn’t call you with bad news.”
She’s right. I quickly answer the call.
“Dylan…”
“I have him, Sweetheart. Liam’s going to be fine.”
“He’s found him,” I announce, tears coursing down my face and the other women don’t fare much better. Then I clue into something Dylan said. “He’s hurt?”
“He has a cut on his head, and since he was out of it for a bit, we’re on our way to the hospital so he can get checked out.”
“I can be there in fifteen minutes.” I’m jump started into mom-action when he stops me.
“Not Mercy. The boys are being taken to Beaumont in Farmington. Damian is making arrangements to get you here as soon as possible.”
The information takes a moment to process. “Thomas?”
“They were together. Not sure what that kid went through these past weeks, but he’s a big part of why I’m looking at your son’s blue eyes right now.”
I choke down a sob. “Can I talk to him?”
There’s some rustling and then I hear him.
“Mom?” His voice is soft and a bit drowsy, but it’s the most beautiful sound ever.
“Baby. I love you so much. I’m on my way, okay?”
“‘Kay.”
More rustling and then Dylan is back.
“Pack an overnight bag for yourself and bring him some clothes, Sweetheart. Just in case. Damian should be there soon. We’re rolling up on the hospital so I better go.”
“Look after him, please.”
“Won’t leave his side. I promise.”
“I love you.”
“Love you too, Marya. Now go pack. I’ll see you soon.”
I’ve just updated Mom and Kerry when the doorbell rings.
“Kerry, would you get that?” Mom says, taking charge. “I’ll run up and pack a few things.”
“Marya…” Damian’s deep voice sounds from the doorway as he crosses the distance in a few long strides and folds me in a tight hug. “He’s going to be fine.”
His arms feel solid and I’m not afraid to lean into him heavily while I try to regain my equilibrium. “Where did they find him?” I finally ask when he releases me.
“I’ve got the vehicle out front, let’s get on the road and I’ll fill you in.”
“I’m coming. Dante will be fine with your sister,” Kerry announces, challenging Damian with a look.
“So am I,” Mom seconds, coming down the stairs with a bag.
It’s not until after we pack into his SUV, and I quickly call my boys at Beth’s house to tell them their brother is found, that Damian tells us what he knows.
“It was actually Agent Linden who found the boys. She contacted Dylan, who was only minutes away, and along with Luna they were able to overpower the suspect.”
“How did she know?”
“Good instincts. They were in a small abandoned warehouse on property that belongs to a company called Contechs, a manufacturer of electronic components. The company belongs to Connor Keswick, who is Jeremy Berger’s father-in-law.”
“Jeremy?”
“No. Although your ex-husband has plenty to answer for, he was not involved with the abduction of the boys or Seth’s murder.”
“So it was Keswick,” Kerry contributes from the back seat she shares with Mom.
Damian glances up at her reflection in the rearview mirror. “Not exactly. We’re still working on tying all the pieces together, although it should be easier now that we know all the players.”
“Who took the boys then?” I ask, meeting his quick glance my way.
“Peter Grunsberg.”
There’s something familiar about the name. I’ve heard it before, but I can’t quite place it.
“Who is that?” Mom voices my question but before Damian has a chance to answer it comes to me.
“Coach?”
THIRTY-ONE
Marya
I’m still reeling with the knowledge Liam’s soccer coach is a predator when Damian pulls up in front of the hospital to let us out.
The first person I see, when the nurse shows Mom and Kerry the waiting room and I follow her on my crutches into the ER, is Toni Linden. She appears deep in conversation with a couple standing outside one of the rooms in the long hallway.
The already dissipating anger I’ve felt toward the agent melts away completely as I watch her wrap the clearly distraught woman in a hug. These must be Thomas’ parents. Trying not to intrude, I follow the nurse and slip as best I can past them, but when I throw a glance over my shoulder I catch her peek at me.
I recognize the apology in her eyes as if she’d spoken the words and simply I nod my acceptance. It’s all I have time to give her; my son is waiting for me.
The nurse holds open the door to an image that burns itself into my soul. Dylan leaning forward on a stool, pulled close to the head of the hospital bed that holds my son. His large hand is covering Liam’s chest, and his head is resting on the pillow next to my boy’s bandaged one.
Liam appears to be asleep, but Dylan’s head lifts up the moment he hears the door click shut behind me.
“Sweetheart,” he murmurs, before carefully removing his hand from Liam’s chest and getting to his feet.
With one hand he takes my crutches, while the other arm pulls me tight against him. My nose is pressed against the hollow of his throat and my hands clutch his shirt at the small of his back. My nose stings and I have a lump in my throat, but I refuse to give in to tears. I’ve shed enough of them the past hours.
“Was he…” I let the word trail, afraid to finish my question, but Dylan hears it anyway.
“No.”
I slump against him. “Oh God, thank you.”
“Mom?”
Dylan takes a step back and we both turn to the bed. “Hey, baby.” I hobble to Liam’s side and try to smile, even as my eyes take in the large bandage wrapped around his head and the crusted blood not quite wiped from his neck and behind his ear. It’s a good thing life with three boys includes plenty of encounters with blood; otherwise I might’ve lost it again.
I feel Dylan’s hand settle on my lower back and feel the instant comfort it provides.
“The doc will be here soon. Liam just got back from a scan maybe fifteen minutes before you got here. Why don’t you have a seat?”
“I got stitches,” Liam says, as I’m gently pushed down on the stool.
“Twelve of them,” Dylan says behind me and Liam grins up at him.
“Did I break the record, Mom?”
I roll my eyes. Everything with my boys is a competition. Who’s taller, who’s stronger, who has the scariest injuries and the biggest scars—and we haven’t quite hit puberty yet.
Lord have mercy.
“Probably, Bub,” I answer with a sigh. Dylan starts chuckling behind me.
The door opens and a doctor walks in and stops at the opposite side of the bed. “Hey, Liam. Mrs. Berger?”
“It’s Ms.,” I clarify.
“I’ll just wait outside,” Dylan says, but I grab him by the hand and hold on.
“Stay.”
“Your son has a nice size cut on his head we already cleaned and closed, but aside from that, a concussion, and a doozy of a headache, there’s no additional injury. We’ll keep an eye on him overnight and see how things are tomorrow.”
“Can he have visitors?”
“As soon as we have him moved up to a room. A nurse will be in shortly, I believe there’s some insurance stuff to be filled out, and as soon as that’s done he can be on his way.”
True to his word, the same nurse who showed me here comes in with a clipboard and I quickly fill out the questionnaire.
“I’m moving him to the third floor, room 312. Give us twenty minutes to transfer care and get him settled in?”
“You head to the waiting room,” Dylan suggests. “I’ll be right behind you. I’m just going to walk him to the elevator.”
I kiss Liam, who wraps an arm around my neck—something he hasn’t done in a long time and has me swallow a lump—and watch as Dylan helps the nurse navigate his hospital bed through the door.
The waiting room is full of familiar faces: Mom, Kerry, Damian, Luna, and Toni with her arm firmly around the shoulders of Mrs. McKinley. They look up as one when I walk in.
“Twelve stitches and a concussion,” I immediately inform Mom who half-rises from her chair. “He’ll be fine. They’re just moving him up to a room and we can go see him.”
“Where’s Dylan?” Damian wants to know.
“Right here,” his deep voice sounds right behind me, as I feel the pressure of his hand on my lower back. “You should sit down,” he adds for my benefit, and I let him guide me to a vacant chair beside my mother. Then he turns to Thomas’ mom and crouches down in front of her, grabbing her hand as he speaks to her in a gentle tone. “I don’t know how much your son is willing to share about what happened, but I need you to know—if not for his actions—things may well have ended much differently. He’s a fighter, and you should be very proud of him.”
“Thank you.” The words are barely audible, but the grateful look she shoots him with eyes brimming with tears is clear.
Moments later her husband comes in to get her.
“Thank you,” Toni echoes, getting to her feet, but her eyes are on Dylan. “Her son didn’t want her in the room when the doctor came in to examine him. She can guess, though. What you said, I’m sure it helped.”
The implication of what she says fills me with some form of survivor’s guilt as I realize how lucky Liam was.
“I’ve got her,” Luna says, following Toni—who claims to need some air—out of the room.
Dylan
“Jesus,” Damian runs a hand through his hair, looking shaken.
It’s coming on to midnight, and we’re standing in the parking lot, Kerry already tucked inside the running SUV.
Luna left for Yeager’s office with Toni earlier, where apparently they’re waiting to interview Grunsberg until the boss gets there. He’s flying back from Austin. She left the Expedition for me.
Jasper had called around the time Marya went up with Lydia and Kerry to see her boy. The team in Montrose found the connection in the paperwork they took out of Keswick’s house there, something that had easily been overlooked initially, simply because so much time had passed.
They found a copy of a birth certificate listing one Katherine Grunsberg as the mother of Peter James Grunsberg, born eight years prior to Katherine’s marriage to Connor Keswick. From what they pulled together from the family papers, Sylvia was born three years after that. The last mention of Peter was a letter from a boarding school in Vermont Keswick donated a whack of money to, confirming the then fourteen-year-old’s arrival. Sylvia would’ve been just three years old and wouldn’t necessarily have remembered him.
We have to wait to get information from Grunsberg himself, since it’s doubtful Keswick will talk, but it’s clear their paths crossed again at some point. The only witnesses able to perhaps shed a little light are the two boys.
While I was getting some missing details from Liam—mostly about what happened in that windowless room—Damian had the difficult task of interviewing Thomas. Something that clearly affected him.
“Tough,” I mumble sympathetically.
Damian snorts in response. “Nowhere near what his poor parents are faced with.”
“For sure.”
“The kid never left that room. The first week he never saw who had taken him. All he remembers is playing a game of Fortnight with SoccerLord the night before he was taken. The guy asked him to meet in the back parking lot at the soccer fields. Said to wait by a navy blue van, because he had some special edition game the kid could borrow. He doesn’t remember much else until waking up in that room.” He shoves his hands in his pockets and turns to look at his wife, who appears to have dozed off, her head resting against the window. “He had a bucket in the room with him, and didn’t know if it was night or day. He remembers looking forward to the door opening that first week, because that meant a bottle of water and a couple of granola bars would be tossed in the room. He said he’d feel sleepy after and would doze off. Then one time he woke up while he was…” Damian swallows hard and I know it costs him. I look away and give him a minute, my own fists clenched in my pockets. “Anyway.” He clears his throat. “He remembers trying to fight, recognizing Grunsberg, who easily overpowered him, muttering something about not being able to wait his turn. That’s all that was ever said to him when the man returned. He never got his clothes back.”
I don’t trust myself to say anything, so I don’t. I just swallow hard.
“Liam?” he asks, and I shake my head.
“Was spared that.”
“Good.”
“Yeah.”
“I’m gonna drive my wife home, but first I’m gonna swing by Bella’s to pick up our son. I feel the need to have him close tonight.”
“I hear you, Boss.”
His hand claps on my shoulder. “You did good today. Go be with your family, Barnes, and don’t wait too long to make that official. Time is as precious as it is fleeting, so grab the fuck on.”
-
I turn to look at Marya, who is yawning in the passenger seat. Grabbing her hand, I give it a squeeze and earn an exhausted smile.
Liam was released forty-five minutes ago, after a very uncomfortable night in his room.
The nurse ended up wheeling in a recliner we told Lydia to take, Marya crawled in bed with her son—something the nurses frowned at but didn’t interfere with—and I sat on the floor by the door, my back against the wall. I dozed off occasionally, but every time I did, staff would come in to check on Liam. They might as well have put in a revolving door. It’s quieter at Marya’s place with all four boys running around.
A quick glance in the rearview mirror shows both Liam and Lydia asleep. Good, because I’m not sure we’ll get much of a chance at Marya’s.
Before we left the hospital, I made a call to my mother to see how the boys fared in the tree house last night, and to give her a heads-up we’d be on our way home soon. From what I gather, the kids are bouncing to see their brother. I have no doubt they’ll be waiting at Marya’s when we get there.
“I…uhh…do you…shit,” Marya uncharacteristically stammers.
“Spit it out, Sweetheart.”
She huffs and blows a stray strand of hair out of her face. “Are you just dropping us off?”
“Wasn’t planning to.”
“Oh.”
“Did you think I was gonna throw you out and be on my merry way?” I turn to her with an eyebrow raised.
“I wasn’t sure.” She throws a quick glance over her shoulder, and finding the back seat occupants still safely sleeping, she leans in a little closer. “Things haven’t exactly been moving along a traditional path thus far. It’s hard to know what to expect. It’s like we’ve lived a lifetime in the past couple of months, and at the same time I feel like maybe we’ve missed some steps.”
I turn our hands palm to palm and slip my fingers between hers. “What do you want?” I ask bluntly. She stays quiet, so I try again. “Today, next week, next month—what is it you want?” When she still hesitates, I continue, “Okay, I’ll tell you what I want. Today I don’t want to leave you or the boys, so unless you don’t want me to, I’ll stick around.”
“I want you to.”
I grin at her. “See? We’re getting somewhere. Now, aside from something popping up that requires my presence at the office, I’d like to hang around tomorrow as well.”
“Fine by me.” Her grin matches mine.
“Excellent. Then tomorrow night, seeing as it’s technically a school night, Max and I should head back to my place. Not because I want to,” I add quickly, “but because I think it’s better to give the kids a chance to get used to the fact we’re becoming an us. Next weekend we can be back here, if you’ll have us.”
Her fingers squeeze mine but before she can respond, Lydia answers from the back seat, making us both laugh.
“Ohhh, she’ll have you.”
THIRTY-TWO
Dylan
“Hey.”
“Hi, is this a good time? I can call back—”
“It’s always a good time for you, Sweetheart,” I tell Marya, get up from my chair, and walk into the hallway, away from my team’s prying eyes.
The truth is, we’ve been swamped, and although I’ve talked to her every day, I haven’t seen much of her.
The feedback from both Keswick’s and Grunsberg’s interviews had been sparse, since neither was particularly forthcoming, so we’ve been digging hard.
Monday we received the search warrant for Grunsberg’s house in Durango, as well as his office at the office furniture outlet he’s managed the last six months since moving here from Grand Junction. The guy has a wife and two young daughters for fuck’s sake.
The wife looked shell-shocked when we arrived on her doorstep Monday afternoon. It was clear she already knew her husband was in FBI custody, but she’d been clueless the navy blue van belonging to her was used in the abduction of children. The same van she used to take their own daughters to daycare in.
She’d been equally clueless about her husband’s connection with Connor Keswick, who she only knew as the father of her college friend, Sylvia, well before she even met Peter Grunsberg. It’s turned out to be a tangled web for fucking sure.
The only thing we found in the house was his PS4 in the basement rec room, but we hit the jackpot when we later searched his office at the store. In a locked drawer in his desk, we discovered a digital camera storing not only the soccer tryout pictures Berger had alluded to, but also pictures of Seth, Thomas, and a total of five more young boys. I’ll never be able to get those images out of my mind.
From what we were able to collect from Grunsberg’s home and office, along with the evidence found in the Montrose and Farmington searches, the picture was getting clearer.
